


hard like a rock, cold like stone

by flashlightinacave



Category: Never Have I Ever (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Banter, Developing Relationship, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, POV Alternating, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-04 18:55:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25321261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/flashlightinacave/pseuds/flashlightinacave
Summary: Ben scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “45%? Where did you even get that statistic?”“Fine,” Devi concedes, “40%.”“Hmm, no,” Ben taps his chin. “You didn’t remember to account for the margin of error in your sample size. Besides, you can’t take a sample of our arguments, especially not the ones you’ve won, by yourself, you’re biased.”Devi shoves him playfully. “You’re not smart enough to take the sample with me, Gross.” She smirks indignantly at him. “Just admit that I’m smarter than you.”Or: The bus is empty and the Model UN alliance works. Devi's just not sure how she went from allies to friends to—something else with Ben so quickly. Diverges from 1.05.
Relationships: Ben Gross/Devi Vishwakumar
Comments: 28
Kudos: 122





	hard like a rock, cold like stone

**Author's Note:**

  * For [peterpan_in_neverland](https://archiveofourown.org/users/peterpan_in_neverland/gifts).



> Here we are with another fic and my word count control is even more lost than before. Honestly, this entire thing was just an excuse to write some more of Devi and Ben being like best friends with one another.
> 
> I gave Devi some of my music tastes, if anyone's curious.
> 
> As usual, I'm unapologetic for my science, you know that's just how I roll at this point.
> 
> Shout out the squad (Bhargavi, Maggie, Rose, Cori) for being amazing and awesome and truly a delight to chat with. Especially shouting out Bhargavi for dealing with me sending her half-written, mediocre snippets.
> 
> Because it's my brand, the title of this one comes from the MARINA song "Solitaire."
> 
> Enjoy!!

Going on the Model UN trip might just be the best decision Devi has made all year.

The Model UN kids think she’s cool and popular, she gets tipsy on the fanciest wine she’ll probably ever get to drink, and even more astoundingly, alcohol seems to make Ben nice.

Realistically, “nice” is a stretch, he’s still an asshole, albeit a bearable one. There’s a definite shift in his mannerisms, his teasing of her seeming more friendly than hostile. 

He’s nice enough that Devi even agrees to form an alliance.

It isn’t an alliance with one another, but an alliance between Equatorial Guinea and The United States, which is still close enough to a Devi-Ben alliance to be surprising.

And their alliance works spectacularly, obviously. 

While Devi and Ben are both fierce competitors independently, that’s nothing compared to the dominance they assert over Model UN while working together. Ben’s solution to dealing with carbon emissions isn’t creative or inspired, but it is practical, and to Devi’s surprise, she doesn’t find agreeing with him nearly as terrible as she imagined.

He smiles too much, too brightly, when he’s awarded the best delegate gavel, for Devi to even feel annoyed that he wins instead of her. All of her annoyance towards Ben Gross seems to fly out the window when he smiles at her like that, a beaming grin instead of his usual smirk.

Devi surprises herself even further that day when she takes the seat next to Ben on the bus back. While the entire Model UN team still reveres her for supplying alcohol, no one on the team is much for conversation. With a six-hour bus ride back to the Sherman Oaks, conversation is a necessity and she and Ben had made decently pleasant chatter the night before, even if they were slightly drunk on Grigio. 

She bumps her shoulder against his as she takes the seat next to him. “Congrats on winning the best delegate hammer, Gross.”

Ben turns to her. “As I told you yesterday, David, it’s a gavel.” His eyebrows twitch in mock offense, but Devi can tell it’s a pretense, he’s smiling too much to be annoyed with her. His grin lights up his entire face, making his eyes sparkle and gleam.

Devi feels a strange flutter of warmth in her stomach from the brightness of Ben’s smile—one she was able to attribute to alcohol last night, but today annoyingly has no explanation for—but she forces the weird feeling down and sticks out her tongue mockingly. “I could have won that gavel if I really wanted it.”

Ben shakes his head. “No, you couldn’t.”

“Could too, I just let you win this time.”

“David.” Ben cocks his head. “The last thing you would ever do is let me win.”

“Not true,” Devi objects, tossing her cascading hair over her shoulder. “45% of the arguments you’ve won against me, you’ve only won because I let you win.”

Ben scoffs and crosses his arms over his chest. “45%? Where did you even get that statistic?”

“Fine,” Devi concedes, “40%.”

“Hmm, no,” Ben taps his chin. “You didn’t remember to account for the margin of error in your sample size. Besides, you can’t take a sample of our arguments, especially not the ones you’ve won, by yourself, you’re biased.”

Devi shoves him playfully. “You’re not smart enough to take the sample with me, Gross.” She smirks indignantly at him. “Just admit that I’m smarter than you.”

Ben rolls his eyes. “You’ve been asking me to admit that for the last 10 years.” Devi’s taken slightly aback when he leans in closer and his voice drops in volume. “I never, ever will.”

Devi feels her heart beating faster in her chest and her breathing growing shallow. _Fuck._

She knows exactly what he’s doing and, well, two can play that game. 

The tension is palpable as she leans in even closer. She’s close enough that he can likely feel her breath against his skin. “Well, I’m never one to back down from a challenge.”

It’s only then that Devi realizes their compromising position and clears her throat before drawing back to place a more acceptable distance between them. She turns away from him, staring instead at the tattered grey of the seat in front of her. 

They sit in awkward silence for a few minutes as the bus begins to move and Devi drums her fingers on her lap.

The silence is broken when she hears Ben search through his bag and curse to himself. Cautiously, she turns around to face him. “What’s wrong?”

Ben looks up at her and shakes his head. “It’s nothing.”

Devi snorts. “You’re a terrible liar, Gross.”

“I—I’m not lying.” Ben protests, but his cheeks have turned slightly pink.

“I guess we can add lying to the long list of things I’m better at than you.” She punctuates each word with a light nudge to his shoulder. “What the hell is wrong?”

“You’re insufferable, David.”

“Yeah, but you love it.”

She hears Ben let out a deep breath and notices his face is contorted in sadness. His shoulders are slumped and his bottom lip is quivering. “It’s stupid,” he mumbles kicking the floor beneath his foot, “but I left my air pods back in the hotel room in Davis.”

“Oh.” A beat passes between them. Devi doesn’t quite know why she says what she says next, but the words spill from her lips before she can question it. “We could share my earbuds if you wanted.”

She watches Ben’s eyes brighten and the sadness in his features vanish replaced with a sly smile. “If you plan to listen to the Jonas Brothers the entire time, David, I’ll pass.”

Devi punches Ben playfully in the shoulder. “That was my taste in music in 3rd grade! Besides, who are you to talk? You were obsessed with One Direction.”

“Their music was catchy and you know it!”

Devi snorts. “Well, at least boy bands are better than your current tastes. Do you even like anything by any living artists or has everyone you're a fan of died of Tuberculosis?”

Ben crosses his arms in mock outrage. “It’s called class, David, not that I’d expect you to know that.”

“There’s a difference between class and pretentiousness, Gross.”

“What artists do you even listen to?” Ben asks, cocking an eyebrow.

Devi ponders his question for a second, still slightly unable to believe she’s having her second pleasant conversation with Ben Gross in 24 hours. “There a few musicals Eleanor got super into that I like such as _Wicked_ , _Come From Away_ , and _Hamilton_ , but I also really love Janelle Monae and Lizzo—”

Ben cuts her off. “Everyone likes Lizzo, David.”

“Shut up.” She whacks him in the chest with the back of her palm. “I also love Hozier and MARINA and other alternative pop stuff.”

“No way.” Ben’s looking at her in complete shock, eyes blown wide. “You like MARINA?”

“I can see why her music wouldn’t be to your taste, Gross. It’s for sophisticated intellectuals like me.”

“No, no.” Ben raises his hands defensively. “You don’t get it, Devi, I love her music.”

Devi gives him a suspicious look and snorts. “Really? You’re into alternative pop?”

Ben nervously rubs the back of his neck. “Well, not all alternative pop, no, but her lyricism is genius. I mean have you listened to _Savages_ or _To Be Human_? Her commentary on civilization is unparalleled.”

Devi, against her better judgement smiles. “Okay, real talk, which of her albums is your favourite?”

Devi watches Ben tap his temple in contemplation. “I love all of her albums, but I think I have to give my preference to _Electra Heart_.”

“Holy fuck, that’s my favourite of her albums too.” She bumps her shoulder against his. “Who knew you had actual taste in music, Gross?”

Ben laughs and his eyes crinkle similarly to during their conversation on the hotel room floor from the night before. Happiness looks good on him, Devi decides. He bumps his shoulder back against hers.

She likes this too, being friendly with him.

“We could listen to it if you wanted, I have her entire discography downloaded on my phone.”

Ben’s eyes light up at her suggestion and Devi searches through her bag until she pulls out her earbuds. She catches Ben’s incredulous expression out of the corner of her eye. “What are those?” he asks, gesturing to the item in her hands.

Devi frowns at him. “They’re my earbuds. How did you think we were going to listen to music?” She plugs them into the headphone jack of her phone and passes Ben an earbud. 

He glances at the earbud and looks back at her skeptically. “You have to plug it in?”

Devi moves to snatch the earbud away, but Ben is faster and leans away from her. “I can just sit here and listen to my music by myself if that’s what you want.”

Ben scoffs at her, rolling his eyes, and plops the earbud in his ear.

Devi places her earbud in her ear and queues the album up on her phone.

They’re listening to the third song of the album, _Lies_ , when Devi notices that Ben is quietly singing, or more accurately mumbling along. He’s kind of good at it, doing a decent job hitting the right notes. 

Somehow, it doesn’t surprise her one bit, he got A Cappella when they split extracurriculars down the middle, after all. 

* * *

The change is subtle, imperceptible almost, but somewhere along the line, he and Devi’s model UN alliance between the United States and Equatorial Guinea shifts into a genuine friendship. 

They still bicker and compete in class, but there’s a newfound carefulness to it, none of their fighting has the same animosity as it used to. They still challenge each other and motivate one another and push each other to be better, but they now seem to know what lines not to cross.

With his newfound friendship with Devi, perhaps it’s Ben’s fault that Shira bails on the Clippers game. 

He hasn’t been the best boyfriend as of late. Ben can’t remember the last time he and Shira engaged in meaningful conversations over lunch or spent time together outside school. Something always comes up whenever he suggests they go out on a date, last time, she was getting nail art done for her Instagram story.

In retrospect, it’s not just that he hasn’t been the best boyfriend, it’s that he’s been a terrible boyfriend. It makes perfect sense when Shira cancels their plans in favour of brow sculpting.

This assessment is something Devi vehemently disagrees with while they’re eating lunch together that day. Eleanor has rehearsal for the school play and Fabiola has robotics club, so she sits with him at a small table in the cafeteria. “No way,” Devi says with a firm shake of her head. “You don’t deserve to have plans you made months ago spontaneously cancelled, that’s fucked up, dude.”

“I haven’t exactly been a good boyfriend to her or anything. Maybe she’s just being the kind of girlfriend I deserve right now.” 

Devi glances at him sympathetically, her eyes filled with pity. “No one deserves to be in a relationship as unfulfilling as your relationship with Shira.” She sounds uncharacteristically genuine, sincere.

He doesn’t know why the words rub off on him the wrong way, but they do. 

(Ben’s always known he and Shira were never an iconic love story, but she was something. Someone to talk to, even if it was while she was doing her nails, applying her makeup, or posing for Instagram selfies. He’s always just wanted someone to talk to.) 

So, he tears a page out of Devi’s book and reacts in the only way he can: he lashes out. 

“You’re one to talk, David,” he snaps. “It’s not like your relationship with Paxton is all romance and roses. What do you know about actual _feelings_?”

Hurt flashes over Devi’s face quickly, but it’s more than enough to make him feel guilty. He didn’t mean what he said, not one word of it, and he holds up a hand to stop her before she can say anything in response. “I’m sorry,” he says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I didn’t mean that. I was just—just a bit upset.” 

Devi still looks hurt, but she brushes it off. “I get it, Ben. I know you didn’t mean it.” 

Ben stares down at his lunch, feeling a little sick. “I just—that’s the way things have always been with her. And maybe I just—just didn’t do enough this time.”

“Ben, for someone who claims to be a genius, you’re really fucking stupid,” Devi breathes.

“What?” 

“You don’t need to accept the situation just because ‘that’s how Shira’s always been.’ Relationships are about compromise and working together. It’s not ok if you’re the one doing all the work and she’s not doing anything.”

Ben sighs. “I think I know that deep down, but…” He glances up at Devi to find her peering up at him through her eyelashes. “I don’t know, Devi. I mean, you have Paxton and at least Shira is someone, you know? She makes me feel less lonely and that’s what matters, right?”

Devi takes a bite of her lunch and a sip of water before she looks up at him again. “Does she really make you any less lonely, Ben?”

She makes a good point, Ben thinks to himself. If the purpose of his relationship with Shira is to numb his ever-present loneliness, her vacuous and vapidness aren’t doing the trick. It makes his heart twinge when she directs him to kiss her cheek strictly for the purpose of an Instagram selfie, so she can show her followers how perfect her life is.

“No,” he admits, “I don’t think she does.”

If anything, his relationship with Shira exposes him to how empty and shallow his life is, how few human connections he is capable of forming.

(Well, he has found a friend in Devi. And perhaps, with how quickly they’ve fallen into a friendship maybe something—)

“Hey, Ben, can I tell you something?”

Ben looks up, Devi’s voice pulling him out of his thoughts. Her hands are folded in her lap and she looks anxious. She takes a deep breath, then another, steeling her nerves. As if she’s worried she’s about to admit something that might—

“I never had sex with Paxton.”

Ben blinks at her, slightly dumbfounded. “What?”

“I never had sex with Paxton,” Devi repeats. She raises her hands defensively before he can speak. “I mean it wasn’t exactly a lie, I just didn’t correct Eleanor when she assumed I had sex with Paxton.” 

Ben snorts. “A lie by omission is still a lie, David.”

“Okay fine, you’re right, but I just didn’t know what to tell El and Fab.”

Ben’s first instinct is the gloat—endlessly gloat about how _the_ Devi Vishwakumar has just admitted that he's right, something he thought he would never see—but he suppresses the urge upon spotting the slightly sad look on her face. “You haven’t told them?”

Devi shakes her head. “No, how could I?”

“You could just talk to them.” Ben runs a hand through his hair and sighs. “I think we both need to be more honest with people, Devi. Me with Shira and you with your best friends, it’ll be better for us in the long run.”

“ _Right_ ,” Devi drawls, “Talking to them. Like I haven’t thought about _that_ already.”

“With the single brain cell you have, David, I’m not sure you would’ve without my help.”

Devi seems to appreciate him lightening the tension and bumps her shoulder with his. “Thanks, Ben. It’s nice to have someone I can talk to about this stuff.”

Against his better judgement, Ben smiles softly at her and reaches out to squeeze her hand. “Anytime, Devi.”

* * *

Devi is certain that something is wrong with Ben the next day.

Alright, to be fair, she isn’t 100% certain that something is wrong (you can never be 100% certain about most things, probability theory is a bitch), but she’s about 95% certain. And that percentage steadily rises to 99.99% as the day goes on.

That’s a pretty high percentage of certainty, if you ask her, enough to be annoyingly concerned about Ben.

When she accidentally flips the numbers in a date as she answers a question in Mr. Shapiro’s class, he doesn’t swivel around to immediately correct her and make a smug infuriating quip.

He doesn’t wave the test they get back in her face (she spots his test lying on his desk and notices that he beat her by half a point, so she’s especially surprised he hasn’t chosen this moment to gloat.) 

Sure, she and Ben are friends now, but they’re still prickly competitors at the end of the day, so it’s weird that he’s not challenging her or being smug or arrogant at all. Concerningly weird. Annoyingly, concerning weird.

Even more unusual, he looks like he’s moping when she spots him seated at her usual table at lunch.

So, in typical Devi fashion, she doesn’t beat around the bush, she’s direct with him, blunt and uncompromising.

She pokes him in the shoulder multiple times to get his attention when she takes a seat next to him at the table. “You’re being weird today, what’s up?”

Ben looks up at her and she immediately identifies the unease in his expression. His jaw is clenched and his eyebrows are drawn together. “Nothing—nothing’s wrong.”

Devi narrows her eyes at him and regards him in suspicion. “You’re a terrible liar, Gross.”

Ben glances down at the floor, unable to meet her eyes. “I’m not lying.”

This exchange feels like déjà vu, Devi thinks, as she continues to observe Ben. She pinches the bridge of her nose and sighs because god he is horrifically bad at lying, it’s frustrating.

“You did better than me on our most recent history test and you didn’t gloat once, something is wrong. I know it.”

“I beat you?” Ben doesn’t sound smug or pleased, but defeated. “That’s cool, I guess.”

“Usually you would never let me live something like this down.” She punctuates each word with a poke to his ribs. “What the hell is wrong.”

“I’m fine, Devi,” Ben answers a bit too quickly, a bit too defensively. “Really, I am.”

Devi still doesn’t believe him one bit. “I’m not watching you mope around by yourself, Gross. You’re coming over for dinner.”

Ben’s head snaps up and his eyes widen, almost comically. “What?”

“That’s not an invitation, Ben, you’re coming over.” She smiles a little evilly. “Besides, it’d be amusing to see the destruction of flavour on your pathetic white boy taste buds.”

-

Inviting Ben over for dinner is… nice. 

Kamala is happy to make food slightly less spicy (though Devi still laughs when Ben’s face turns completely red and he tries to eat dosa as if it’s a taco), and her mother seems pleased that she’s finally become friends with the boy she’s constantly complaining about at the dinner table. (She catches a glint in Ben’s eyes when he responds to Nalini’s statement with “Constantly, huh?” and scowls.)

They’re putting away dishes together when Devi catches a similar sad look on Ben’s face to the one she spotted at lunch. “Okay,” she breathes, growing a little impatient, “you have to tell me what’s wrong.”

Ben glances up at her and lets out a deep breath. “I broke up with Shira.”

Devi places a hand on her hip. “Is that why you’ve been moping all day?”

“No, that’s not why. I—I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Oh.”

Devi tries to focus on washing the dishes, but this new silence between her and Ben is weirdly stifling. Not enjoying the quiet, she tries a new conversation tactic. 

“Do you ever miss it?”

Ben looks up from the large pot he’s drying. “Miss what?”

Devi places a few dishes back in the cupboard. “You know, insulting each other and being super competitive and—”

Ben cuts her off. “We still do all those things, David.”

“I know, I know.” She focuses on drying another pot. “It’s just our insults no longer have any bite to them, you know?”

“Honestly?” Ben’s glancing at her a little skeptically now, his eyes slightly narrowed.

Devi shrugs her shoulders and offers a small smile in response. She hopes that’s enough to convince him that this is a conversation she wants to have.

It’s stupid to say she knows what Ben’s going to say, that she can hear it before he says it—cliche and trite even, she’s not a mind reader—but ten years of history means she knows him unbelievably well, so it feels accurate.

She hears Ben let out a long sigh before his eyes meet hers again. “No.”

“Yeah,” Devi admits, “Me neither. Everything we said to each other just became empty… after a while.”

“I really am sorry,” Ben says, taking a step forward.

Devi raises her eyebrows. “What for?”

They’ve both completely abandoned the dishes now, favouring a conversation instead.

Ben bashfully rubs the back of his neck. “I was really, really mean to you.” He laughs, the sound a little self-deprecating, and turns his eyes to the floor. “God, Devi, you lost your dad and I was still such a dick.”

“You were,” Devi agrees, “but I was pretty awful to you too.”

“Yeah, but I was significantly worse,” Ben argues, crossing his arms tightly over his chest.

“Ben, let's not argue about which one of us was meaner to the other.”

Ben lets out another sigh. “I’m not trying to argue with you, Devi, I just feel terrible. I made fun of you when you were in a wheelchair, I mean, who does something like that?”

“Yeah, those psychosomatic jabs hurt, but to be honest, I think I would have hated it more if you suddenly started being nice to me.”

Ben looks up at her again, eyebrows knit together in confusion. “What do you mean?”

Devi bites her lip nervously and twirls a strand of her hair around her finger. “Look, after my dad—after everything, everyone started treating me completely differently. They all acted like I was this porcelain doll that could shatter at any moment and I know their intentions were good, I know they were, but all that did was remind me of… everything.” She meets Ben’s eyes letting herself drown in their vivid blue and takes a shaky deep breath. “Even Eleanor and Fabiola were walking on eggshells with me and I know they thought they were helping, I appreciate them endlessly, but…” 

She clasps her hands together. “You didn’t do that. Even when I was in a wheelchair, you still treated me as your intellectual equal and you still pushed me to do better. With everything else that had so suddenly completely changed, I needed that.”

She feels her lips turn up into a small smile. “Thank you.”

“I should thank you too,” Ben says, a smile beginning to spread across his face. “I like that you always push me to be better, I mean, I’d still be an amazing student without our rivalry, but you and your intelligence keep me on my toes.” He suddenly looks and looks little nervous and swallows as he grips the edge of the kitchen island. “I think I’m infinitely better because I know you.”

Devi places a hand on her hip and scoffs. “Infinitely better? That’s a bit trite don’t you think?”

“A little bit, but you are smart in a way that encourages me to be better.”

Devi’s eyes widen and she gasps slightly mockingly. “Wait a second, are you finally admitting that I’m smarter than you?”

Ben rolls his eyes, but she can tell the action is playful rather than annoyed. “Don’t twist my words, David.”

“I need a calendar to mark the day. Ben Gross just admitted that I’m smarter than him!”

“David,” he grumbles.

“It took you ten years, but you finally admitted it.”

Ben scoffs. “No, but I will admit the margin between our intellects is small.”

Devi tilts her head back and crows a laugh, a loud joyful laugh makes her chest hurt a little. When she looks up, she catches a wistful, almost sad, expression on Ben’s face.

She whacks him in the arm. “What’s wrong?”

He blinks for a second as if trying to collect his thoughts. “I was just thinking, we’re rather nice to each other now, do you not like that?”

“No,” Devi shakes her head. “No, not at all this is different.”

Ben raises his eyebrows and crosses his arms. “How so?”

“If you had been nice to me then, it would have been out of pity.” She drums her hands against the counter. “But now, you’re not being nice to me because you pity me, you’re being nice to me because you actually like me.”

“Don’t push it, David,” Ben grumbles, but it’s immediately followed by a laugh that makes his eyes crinkle and dimples form on his cheeks.

His laugh is infectious and Devi soon finds herself laughing too, clutching the kitchen island as she tries to calm her hysterics.

When they manage to cease their laughter, they return to putting away the dishes and silverware and Devi finds her eyes drawn to Ben.

He twirls a fork in his hand with a skillful, unnatural seeming amount of ease. It skates across his fingers as he pulls open a drawer and places it among the rest of the silverware. Devi watches him carry out this task a few times, the motion almost hypnotic, _enticing_.

He reaches for a glass and she can't help but lean back against the counter, resisting the urge to let a sigh bubble out of her chest. She's always mocked Ben for being scrawny and skinny, but he's _not._ He's strong and sure and steady, traits that she's beginning to realize go far beyond physical appearance. His hands are things of beauty, and even as he grabs four glasses at a time, they never, ever shake, always sure, always steady. 

(He is the steadiest thing she has ever known.)

She wonders for a brief moment what it would feel like to have him weave his hands through her hair, to link her fingers with his, for him to cup her jaw in his palm.

The amount that she wants Ben to touch her is startling and Devi does her best to not let it show, instead she averts her eyes from him and uses a towel to dry a plate then places it in the cupboard.

She reaches for another dish to put away and—

Their fingers brush.

Devi snaps her head up and looks at Ben and finds he’s staring back just as intently, his eyes a blazing blue fire. She doesn’t move her hand and she watches Ben’s eyes flick down, tracing her lips, her hands, her— 

She wonders if he's about to take her hand. 

(She wants him to, she wants him to, she wants him to.)

Then Ben clears his throat and moves his hand away, turning his gaze away too, and whatever fleeting moment just existed between them evaporates.

* * *

After dinner with Devi’s family, Ben makes a more conscious effort to befriend Eleanor and Fabiola.

They’re suspicious of his intentions at first: confused when Devi invites him to join them for lunch, shooting several suspicious glances in his direction and whispering amongst one another. Ben doesn’t blame them, he’s been quite the dick to them and Devi for as long as he can remember. 

He wins Eleanor over first when he broaches the subject of musicals. 

Ben’s not a huge musical fan, but he has an appreciation of Broadway and his father has gotten the occasional pair of tickets for them to see a show.

(And then he’s bailed, always bailed, his father’s absence shouldn’t hurt as much as it does but every ‘Sorry, buddy, I won’t be able to make it text feels more like a punch to the gut than the last.)

He captures Eleanor’s attention when he mentions he’s met a few of the members of the original Broadway cast of Hamilton and they spend the lunch period talking about their favourite motifs and songs. Eleanor’s favourite is “Burn” which Ben isn’t even slightly surprised by, but she seems to approve when he tells her his favourite is “Wait For It.”

"He's got surprisingly decent taste," he hears Eleanor mumble to Devi that lunch period. 

He catches Devi smiling in his direction and he can’t help but smile back.

But just with Ben’s luck, like some cosmic curse, after this interaction, everything implodes.

He doesn’t have the specifics, he only knows it has something to do with Eleanor and her mother and as a result that Eleanor has completely shifted her wardrobe from floral craziness to tan boringness. Devi’s never been the most open person to him or anyone, but he can tell that something has gone awry between her and Eleanor and Fabiola.

He knows he's being incredibly selfish, but goddamnit today is his birthday and he'd like it if all his new friends could go back to getting along.

So naturally, he makes quite the mess of things.

See, Ben is not an idiot. 

He knows that he won't ever really understand the relationship Devi has with her friends, not really. 

Alright, scratch that, he’s kind of an idiot because he forgets a pivotal thing about female friendships: there's no room for a guy to meddle.

And because Ben is an idiot, he tries to meddle.

He can’t be blamed for it, he’s been bearing the brunt of Devi’s anger over this whole situation, that he doesn’t understand, for the past three days, and he’s pretty sure there’s a bruise forming on his arm.

“Hey, guys,” he says when he greets Eleanor and Fabiola at their lockers.

They both turn to him, pausing gathering their books for class. “Ben,” Fabiola says curtly.

Eleanor is completely silent and they both look at him expectantly.

He sheepishly rubs the back of his neck and clears his throat. "Look, I don’t know what happened between you Devi, but could you please make up with her? She's taking her anger out on me." He rubs to his arm and grits his teeth upon touching the tender spot. "She whacked me twenty times last lunch period. It hurts."

Anger flashes through Fabiola’s expression. “Why the hell are you meddling in something that doesn’t concern you?” she snaps.

Ben stuffs his hands in his pockets. “I just thought I could help.”

“Honestly? That’s the exact opposite of what you’re doing,” Eleanor says, but she doesn’t sound mad the same way Fabiola does, she sounds monotone and empty. 

Ben immediately senses he overstepped and raises his hands defensively “I’m sorry I—”

Fabiola cuts him off. “No, Ben. This is between Devi and us. She knows she fucked up.” 

“We want Devi’s apology,” Eleanor adds, grabbing the last of her stuff from her locker. “Not yours.”

After that conversation, his day somehow topples from bad to worse.

He’s fooled into thinking things are looking up when he exchanges a few words with Devi in history class when she wishes him a happy birthday and gives him a ‘friendship punch.’ As he rubs his arm, he can’t distinguish it from a real punch, barring Devi’s smile.

He’s harshly brought back to reality when Paxton walks in. Then suddenly Devi starts chatting with Paxton and laughing with Paxton and smiling at Paxton. His heart twists and clenches in his chest and—

Oh.

(Has she ever smiled at him like that?)

He catches Devi in his periphery, a radiant grin on her face. She’s still laughing over something Paxton said. Her eyes are crinkled and he can see the dimples in her cheeks. 

(Has she ever laughed with him like that?)

He’s not jealous—jealousy is an ugly, controlling, despicable emotion—but Devi is his friend and from what Ben knows about Paxton (which equates to approximately nothing, if he’s being honest), the two of them are fundamentally incompatible.

(So, what is it, Ben wonders, that draws Devi to Paxton rather than—?)

Nevermind that. 

Devi deserves only the best guy in the world, whoever she ends up with should be nothing less.

(He wants that guy to be—)

Devi is his friend— the truest, best friend he’s had in a long time—and Ben wants the same thing anyone wants for their friend, he wants what’s best for her. He wants her to be happy.

(That’s completely true. He does want her to be happy, but the caveat is this: he wants her to be happy with him.)

Before Ben registers what he’s doing, he’s gone and opened his mouth and invited the entire class—including Paxton Hall-Yoshida—into his home for a birthday party he doesn’t want to throw.

Great.

* * *

“California Brittle! Wow, thank you!” Ben says flashing Devi the grin she loves so much.

She attended his birthday party expecting a better experience than her last high school party, but with Eleanor and Fabiola refusing to speak to her and not accepting her apology over the whole Paxton situation, Ben is the only friend she has right now.

He offered her a tour of his house when he greeted her, but drunken members of their class were everywhere, so they’d ended up hiding out in his screening room and chatting instead, the vibrant red of Ben’s jacket further illuminated by the glow of the walls. 

Ben turns over the box of chocolate in his hands, his eyes alight and his grin unwavering. She should have brought him a more meaningful present, Devi thinks for a brief second, but Ben’s radiant, glowing, smile makes those thoughts fade away. All she can think about is how happy she’s made him, how happy she is to make him happy. 

(Selfishly, she loves making him happy so she can catch a glimpse of his incandescent smile, but she realizes she also just wants him to be happy. This idea should come as a surprise to Devi, that she’s so invested in Ben’s happiness, but it doesn’t, it feels like an inevitability.)

When Ben smiles like that at her, it’s impossible not to smile back and so she does, her grin splitting her face wide. “Happy birthday, Ben.”

She’s so close to him she can count his eyelashes and she finds herself studying the blue of his eyes. His irises are a pale bright blue, like the crackling, simmering, boiling surface of the hottest of stars. She remembers learning about stars, how the coldest ones are red, how the hottest, most explosive, catastrophic ones are intensely, impossibly blue. How blue flames are symbolic of complete combustion and the release of powerful amounts of energy and luminosity. That’s the best way to describe Ben’s eyes, luminous. A source of enticing energy that makes the air between them electric, _kinetic_.

Devi realizes she’s been staring at Ben for far too long and her heart begins to beat loudly and confusingly in her chest. She coughs and draws back to put a more acceptable distance between them.

She drums her fingers on her lap, trying to slow her racing pulse and desperate to diffuse the tension, she turns to academics. “So did you read the article and do the questions they assigned us for bio? The one on influenza vaccine development.”

Ben glances at her, confused. “Uh, yeah?”

“I’m sure you argued that sequential exposure is a better vaccine development technique.”

Ben scratches the side of his head. “Uh... no, I didn’t do that.” 

Devi feels her breath quicken at how quiet his voice sounds. “Well, I, on the other hand, actually read the article and think antigen dilution is more effective. Different antigens have a similar secondary epitope, so by creating a vaccine with multiple antigens, you generate an immune response that functions against multiple strains of virus.”

She notices Ben blinking rapidly at her. “What?”

“Do I need to explain what an epitope is to you, Gross? It’s the part of an antigen where an antibody attaches.”

“No, David,” he laughs, “I was more wondering why you’re bringing up vaccines at my birthday party.”

Devi disregards his statement and tries to ignore the way his laughter makes her heart pound in her chest, makes her palms clammy. She clasps her hands in her lap. “It was an interesting article and approach, but I do think I could design a better experiment.”

Ben’s blue eyes glint with intrigue, the enticing way they do when he’s about to challenge her. He leans in a bit closer. “Oh yeah? What were you thinking?”

“Well, the leading hypothesis is that B cells that produce antibodies that bind to strain-specific epitopes are suppressed due to competition for a limited number of T cells, right? So, I think it would more effective if Kanekiyo and his team—”

Ben cuts her off, his hand reaching for her cheek as he pulls her in for a kiss. His hand on her face is warm—comfortingly, soothingly warm—but his other hand, that moves to rest on the curve of her waist, is like fire burning through her shirt.

Finally, her brain kicks back into gear and she begins to kiss back. She moves one hand to cup his jaw and rests the other against his chest. She can feel his heartbeat under her palm and notes that it’s racing in equal time to her own.

They kiss in a manner that is soft, inexperienced, and a little awkward, after all, this is the first time they’ve done this with each other, yet Devi feels nothing but light. It’s nothing like the way she’s always imagined her first kiss—crazed passion and fervour that detonates her soul like the explosive fiery death of a massive star—but it’s tender and above all, it feels perfectly _right_.

Ben pulls away first and Devi feels like a little fuzzy and giddy. She already misses the soft, soft, impossibly, infinitely soft, warmth of his mouth on hers. She wants to pull him closer and kiss him again, so she does, tugging him closer by the collar of his shirt.

They kiss a bit more certainly this time, with a bit more determination. Devi is certain her lips are going to get a little chapped from this, a little bruised, but she can’t bring herself to care. She’s quickly becoming addicted to the feeling of Ben’s mouth on hers, the feeling of his hands weaving through her hair. This kiss reminds her a bit more of what she's always imagined—heated and ardent—not like the one-time occurrence of a supernova, but the steady, constant ignition of a stellar core during nuclear fusion.

Devi pulls away after what feels like both an eternity and only an instant. She takes a moment to observe Ben’s slightly dishevelled appearance. His lips are parted and somewhat swollen, his pupils are blown wide, the blue of his irises impossibly darker. 

She wants to kiss him again, Devi thinks, as she takes in his state, finding herself unable to tear her eyes away from him. She wants to kiss him again and again and again and again ad infinitum.

That desire is also, she realizes, a terrible—an insurmountably, ridiculously, horrifically, terrible—idea.

She shouldn’t have kissed him. Like, she really shouldn’t have.

(Then why, she wonders, did she enjoy kissing him so much? Why did it ignite something in her she never knew was there?)

She shouldn’t have kissed back when he kissed her and she certainly, certainly shouldn’t have pulled him in and kissed him again.

(Why was he such a good kisser? Why can’t she stop thinking about how warm his hands were, how soft his lips were, how—)

Because Ben is her best friend.

It seems strange to assign such a title to the person who she’s called her nemesis for almost ten years, and her friend for only a week, but it’s the truth. Nemesis seems too insignificant a word for what she and Ben were to each other before falling into friendship. They were rivals, but beyond that, the best word she can use to describe him is constant. Immutable, unchanging, everpresent, both as a thorn in her side and shoulder to lean on. For the past ten years, they have been neck in neck, caught in an unending, eternal competition. Ben has been constant, and perhaps that's why it's not so unusual they became friends so quickly. 

(Maybe friends what they were always supposed to be and the cosmic signals had just gotten mixed up)

Ben has become someone she trusts intimately, someone she’s able to share everything with, and he’s always been someone who knows her better than she knows herself.

(Your boyfriend should be your best friend, an unhelpful voice reminds her.)

But here’s the caveat, high school relationships are fickle and flimsy and they do not last. They leave an imprint, an impression, the same way a hair elastic does on one’s wrist, but eventually fade into insignificance.

She can’t risk Ben fading away from her life as though insignificant.

He’s her best friend—and right now with Eleanor and Fabiola on a friend break from her—her only friend. If she loses him, she’ll have nothing left.

Devi’s already experienced losing someone who she depended on, who she loved and needed and cherished. As she looks into Ben’s blue eyes, his expression shifting into concern, she realizes she can’t do that again. 

Losing her father had broken her: it made her incapable of properly processing emotions and facing hard truths. Losing him made it easier for her to push everything she felt into some deep dark unreachable place. Her father, too, was a constant in her life, her biggest cheerleader and supporter, a flame illuminating the darkest of circumstances. But when he’d died, she’d been left to face that darkness alone.

Sure, she had her mother, but she never understood Devi the way her dad did. Her mother could never be there for her in the same capacity. If her father was a flame, her mother is a flickering night light, present, but not enough to get her through the blackness and often succumbing to the dark herself.

(If her father was her flame, then Ben is her flashlight.)

Devi is familiar with losing a constant in her life, she can’t—won’t risk losing another.

“Devi...” The way Ben says her name sounds breathy, soft, almost reverent. The amount of depth, of meaning, of _feeling_ , infused into his tone makes her feel a little sick.

She feels her heart continuing to pound in her chest, but instead of the familiar rhythm of an ECG, it feels like it’s beating his name. Ben, Ben, Ben, Ben, _Ben_.

“Ben.”

His eyes are bright and he’s smiling and it breaks her fucking heart. “That was—”

“—Amazing.”

“—A mistake.”

Ben’s eyes dim and his smile fades. “W-what?”

“Ben,” Devi sighs, she’s on the verge of tears now. She lets out a shaky breath and clasps her hands together as she turns to face him more fully. "I really need my best friend, right now."

"Devi..." he starts. 

She tries another tactic. "Ben, look. You—you know how much my friends mean to me. I—I can't. Not after what happened last year. I can't do that again."

It’s coded, layered, but Ben can read between the lines. He should know what she’s trying to tell him. 

“Devi,” he repeats, a bit sadder this time, a bit softer. 

“I can’t,” Devi repeats, standing up from her seat. “I’m sorry.”

Before Ben can give a response Devi rushes out of his screening room as fast as her legs can carry her.

He doesn’t follow her, leaving her truly, utterly alone.

* * *

Devi’s stubbornness is kindred to Ben’s own and it’s absolutely infuriating.

Not that Ben doesn’t already know this, he’s been the opposing force to Devi’s stubborn nature for ten years now—like two magnets with opposing poles pushing against one another, unrelenting and unyielding—but it’s what she’s chosen to be stubborn about that is upsetting.

She’s refusing to spread her dad’s ashes.

Ben likes to think he knows Devi, and even if he’s managed to misread this situation the way he has many others, he knows she’s making a decision she’ll regret. He resolves to change her mind, hoping his stubbornness can win over hers just this once. For once, just once, maybe the unstoppable force that is his determination will push the unmovable object that is a Devi Vishwakumar whose mind is made up. 

He pushes the door open to Devi’s room—not Devi’s room, just the Doobie brothers themed guest room where she’s been staying, that he’s in just a week alarmingly started to consider Devi’s room—and finds her sitting on the bed, legs crossed and laptop precariously balanced on her knees.

She flinches, so Ben knows she’s aware of his presence, but doesn’t look up.

He clears his throat. “Devi, can we talk?”

She finally peers up at him and the amount of pain he sees swimming in her brown eyes startles him. He’s seized with the urge—almost primal—to take her in his arms and let her pain bleed into him, but he doesn’t.

He’s been careful about the amount of physical contact he initiates between the two of them since the night of his party. He hasn’t wanted to push her away further and has forced himself to ignore the twinge of his heart whenever their hands have accidentally— or perhaps purposefully, he wants it to be purposeful— brushed.

“Ben,” she responds as if merely out of courtesy, before turning back to whatever is on her laptop screen. 

So much for being direct, he thinks.

He finds he’s irrationally nervous and rubs the back of his neck. “I think you’re making a mistake and I don’t want you to do something you’re going to regret.”

Devi’s head snaps up again. She furrows her brow and closes her laptop, placing it on the bed. “What are you talking about?”

“You know what I’m talking about, Devi.”

Ben knows she understands what he’s hinting at, they’ve always been able to sense the others' needs, even during the most heated moments of their rivalry. He likes to think he understands Devi, that he’s able to read her, that her facade cracks open a bit more in his presence.

(There had been one moment he hadn’t been able to read her, that night in his screening room at his party when he—when she—)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Devi says and Ben doesn’t believe her one bit, this is just her trademarked stubbornness in action.

“I think you do.”

(She’d hinted at something that night before she ran away, but Ben still hadn’t figured it out. He was used to having to decipher things when it came to Devi, but this was a code he still hadn’t cracked. Whatever firewall existed around her actions only intensified when she showed up at school the next Monday, ignored the incident, and asked him if she could move in.)

“No,” Devi insists, “I don’t.”

Ben let out a shaky deep breath. Well, it’s now or never and she needs to hear this. “Malibu,” he says, by way of an explanation. “Your dad.”

He watches the pain in Devi’s eyes harden into anger and fears she’s about to snap at him. Instead, she shakes her head sadly. “I can’t.”

(He hadn’t followed her when she ran out of his screening room, rather he groaned, burying his head in his hands and wondering how he so colossally could fuck things up.)

“Devi.”

She shakes her head more firmly this time. “I can’t.”

Ben steps forward, taking a seat on the edge of the bed—he's entering dangerous territory now—and he reaches forward and takes her hand.

She responds immediately by intertwining their fingers.

“Have you thought about this— I mean, are you sure?”

He meets Devi’s eyes and finds she doesn’t look sad, or angry, or as if she’s feeling anything at all anymore. She just looks blank. “There’s nothing to think about.” She turns her gaze away from him and stares at the bed.

For a brief moment, he wishes he were something more to Devi, something—something like a—because maybe, just maybe, then she would listen to him. But that’s not the point here. This isn’t about him, it’s about her, and so he pushes those thoughts away and returns his focus to her. She remains hunched over on the bed, ignoring his gaze.

“Devi,” Ben breathes, “you’re not thinking this through.”

“There’s nothing to think about,” she repeats, not even turning up her eyes to face him.

Ben sighs and offers her hand a quick squeeze before he releases it and stands up.

He steps out of the guest room and pinches the bridge of his nose. His resolve has not diminished, however, he is going to help Devi, even if he’s forced to do it indirectly.

Ben's stubborn, but he's not an idiot, and right now, he knows there are only two people in the world Devi would even _consider_ listening to: Eleanor and Fabiola.

So, he pulls out his phone.

* * *

Devi sprints back to Ben’s car with a newfound energy, takes the passenger seat, and finds herself at a loss of words when she finds him fast asleep.

He’s adorable as he wakes up and rubs sleep from his eyes. He swipes the pad of his thumb against his bottom lip and Devi realizes with a start that she wants to kiss him. Like, really, really wants to.

It should startle her, it should scare her, it should absolutely terrify her, but it doesn’t. Not anymore.

Because right now as she stares at Ben—who’s beautiful blue eyes are still clouded with tiredness—only one thing comes to mind: she’s hopelessly gone for her friend. Maybe it’s because Devi knows how he takes his tea—he won’t drink coffee, he claims he’s too classy (read: pretentious) for that—and his favourite food. Maybe it’s because of his massive heart and how he gave her his home when she had nowhere else to turn. What more could she have asked for? What else could he have given her? Ben’s her friend, one of her best friends, and that is the most important thing.

“Ben,” Devi says, finally breaking the silence.

He turns, his eyes suddenly on her and she forgets what she wanted to say.

She blinks a couple of times trying to collect her thoughts and when she finds Ben’s eyes are still lingering on her, decides to say exactly what she told him the night of his party. But this time, Devi’s words are unencrypted, unprotected, with no lines to read between, they’re just honest.

“You’re one of my best friends.” She bites her lip. “You know that, right?”

Ben nods a little stiffly. His gaze is best described as anticipatory, as if he’s waiting for her to finish speaking before he makes any statement of his own.

Devi steels her nerves and takes another deep breath. “You know that I care about my friends more than—”

Ben shakes his head and interrupts her. “I’m really sorry, Devi.”

“S-sorry?” Devi stammers, slightly confused by the sudden change in direction of their conversation. “What are you sorry for?”

He blows out a deep breath. “I shouldn’t have taken advantage of your emotional state like that.”

“Take advantage of my—? Ben, what the fuck are you talking about?”

“The night of my party.” He wrings his hands in his lap and looks more nervous than Devi has ever seen him. “I really shouldn’t have.”

Devi’s tired of this ambiguity, but she has a feeling she knows exactly what Ben is talking about. “Wait, you’re talking about the kiss?”

Ben lets out a wry laugh. “You weren’t ready and I threw myself at you.”

Devi feels her breath hitch. He can’t possibly have misunderstood her that badly. Her voice comes out quiet and small. “Is that what you think?”

“Well, yeah,” Ben says timidly, “That’s what happened. Isn’t it?”

“No, god, Ben that’s not—” she swallows a lump forming in her throat. “That’s not what happened.” She regains a bit more of composure and confidently says, “You did not take advantage of me.”

She notices that Ben looks more relieved now, but still slightly anxious. He doesn’t speak though, he just waits.

(Ben has always waited for her.)

“What I meant was, you’re one of my best friends but...” she takes a deep breath, heart in her throat, because this is the hard part. “Lately, I’ve been thinking I want something more.”

“Something more?” Ben repeats, his eyes suddenly alight. They look even more impossibly blue than the night in his theatre room, a swirling fiery abyss.

“Yeah,” Devi admits, peering up at him through her eyelashes. “Something more.”

Ben smiles brightly, the meaning of her confession abundantly clear, but his smile quickly shifts into a smug smirk. He cocks his head. “So, tell me, what are the specifics of this ‘something more’?”

Devi can tell Ben understands her, but wants to tease her anyway. The knowledge makes warmth blossom in her chest, makes her feel strangely endeared.

“Well,” Devi starts, worrying her lower lip, “one of them is that you can kiss me.”

“Kiss you?” Ben repeats, sounding slightly incredulous.

“Yeah,” Devi confirms. “Kiss me.” It has a double meaning, both an answer to Ben’s question and a request of her own.

She notices Ben start to lean in and begins to let her eyes flutter shut, only to grumble with annoyance when he pulls back. 

Ben taps his chin. “I don’t know,” he tosses his head back and forth. “If I kiss you, are you going to run away this time?”

Devi snorts and rolls her eyes. “The clock is running out Gross, make a decision or I will—”

Ben cuts her off with the press of his lips to hers. It’s soft—a feather-light, delicate touch that feels more like a caress than a kiss—and he pulls away the second she tries to deepen it. Of course he’s teasing her right now. 

Ben’s smirking again. “Decision enough for you?”

“I don’t know,” Devi says, leaning in closer, “I think I need a little more to be certain,” and then she kisses him.

She kisses him deeper this time, lingering and firm, clutching him closer so he can’t pull back and tease her again. But with the way Ben kisses her back—like he is a flame and she is his source of oxygen—Devi realizes she need not worry about him pulling away from her. She would think he is consuming her, if not for her eager reciprocation.

She moves her hand to brush his jaw, as he moves a hand to tangle a hand in her hair. She tilts her head back and opens her mouth to him, deepening the kiss even further. She lets out a soft contented sigh as he touches his tongue to hers. 

It is as though she and Ben are the sun and moon, their tidal forces able to work together or against one another. And with the deftness of Ben’s mouth on hers, Devi knows she has an infinite preference for together.

She wants to kiss Ben forever, but she knows she can’t, her lungs are burning, burning for air. Sensing this, Ben pulls away from her, giving her space to breathe.

(Just like always, Ben is always anticipating her needs before she even knows what they are.)

“So,” Ben says, his hand sliding from her hair to cup her cheek, his thumb tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear. “Is that more enough for you?” His voice is husky and low and Devi resolves to kiss him much, much more if she can make him sound like that.

Devi reaches for his free hand tangling their fingers together. “I don’t know,” she admits, her voice coming out a little breathless. “I feel like I could do with infinitely more, to be honest.”

Ben smooths his thumb over her cheekbone. “Infinity’s not a quantity, David, it’s a concept.” His expression is all soft and reverent and adoring.

Devi scoffs and affectionately rolls her eyes. “Only you would take my words _that_ literally after just making out with me.”

Ben smirks at her. “Yeah, you love it though.”

Devi doesn’t object to that, she smiles softly, relishing the feeling of his hand completely engulfing hers, his palm cupping her cheek. “Yeah, I do.”

**Author's Note:**

> Leave a comment if you enjoyed this! Comments make me stupid happy.


End file.
